The Night of the Mexican Revenge
by Tripidydoodah
Summary: A sequel to TNOT Man-Eating House which tells what happens when they turn up at the real house at the end of the episode. Not paranormal in any way. Jim is injured and there's a mad plot afoot. The sheriff still has no name. Would be grateful for reviews.
1. The House in the Dream

**The Night of the Mexican Revenge**

Chapter 1

 **The House in the Dream**

"I felt like one who was toiling home barefoot from distant travel, and whose wanderings had lasted many years."

 _(_ _Charles Dickens_ _,_ _Great Expectations_ _)_

Artemus Gordon was still unsettled by the dream he had experienced the night before, and could almost have wished that Jim had woken him earlier. He couldn't think what it might mean and found it hard to rid his mind of thoughts of it, as they continued their journey to Beaumont, the following day. When they came across the house from his dream, he believed, at first, that he must be hallucinating but, realised it must be real, when he heard Jim saying that they should ask if they could sleep in the barn.

Suddenly Artie was more that unsettled, he was deeply troubled. Would tonight's events follow his dream and what if they did? Could he stand to go through it all again? Would he be able to step in, and avert disaster?

As they approached the house the door swung open but there was no-one there. The hairs sprang up on Artie's neck. Then it closed again and he realised that the door was swinging feely on its hinges. He saw the sheriff dismount and push the door open again.

"It looks empty," he shouted back to them.

They all got off their horses, except Liston Day, who had to be helped down by Artie and Jim. Artie supported him into the house, ' _just like I did in my dream_ ,' he thought. Artie looked up as they entered and saw the blue chandelier that he remembered it. He looked at it warily. Last time it was only the swiftness of Jim's reactions that had saved him from being crushed beneath it. He entered the sitting room and noticed that the familiar white sheets were draped over the furniture and there were large cobwebs hanging everywhere. No difference there then.

His attention was drawn back to their prisoner.

"Let's put him in that chair over there," Jim suggested.

Liston had seemed almost unaware of his surroundings up until then but, since they'd entered the house, he appeared to have perked up a little. Artie was reminded of how, in his dream, Day had become younger and younger the longer he stayed in the house, until he was the same age as when he was arrested. He strove to break the spell.

"We ought to light a fire," he said, walking over to the large mantelpiece. There he found newspaper and kindling, already laid. He wondered how long it had been there and looked at the newspaper to see if he could find a date. It was an edition from roughly thirty years ago. He used a match to set fire to it and, when it and the kindling had caught, he looked around for logs. There were some in a box next to the hearth, and he placed several onto the burgeoning flames. He was pleased to find that the wood wasn't damp, though it gave a small hiss as it began to burn.

Jim walked over to warm his hands.

"According to the newspaper, which was in the grate, this house has been abandoned for at least thirty years," Gordon said, quietly.

"Piece of good luck for us then," Jim said. "We'll have the place to ourselves. Better bring some food and bedding in." He strode out to the front door and left the three men alone in the house.

Artie wanted to tell Jim about his dream but this didn't seem to be the right time. Maybe it would be best if he kept it to himself anyway. Although the house was identical, it wasn't behaving in the way it did in his dream.

Even though Day had a blanket around his shoulders, he began to shiver, a symptom of the swamp fever he was suffering from, and which was prevalent along the Bayou.

"He needs more blankets," the sheriff said. "I'll go upstairs and see if I can find some."

"Be careful up there!" Artie warned him, still thinking of his dream.

"Sure," the Sheriff replied, giving him a puzzled look.

"Floorboards," Artie invented.

The Sheriff nodded and went up the stairs.

Now Artie was all alone with Day, he took the opportunity to have a look around the room. The portrait from his dream was on the wall, she was a beautiful woman. He turned his back on her and walked to the windows. Looking out, he noticed the sun was going down, so he lit a lamp and then started to close the shutters, against the cold he knew would be seeping in overnight.

He heard a noise behind him and turned to see Jim entering the room. He was carrying their bedrolls and the small amount of food they had with them. One of them would have to go out and catch something in the morning, if they were going to have a decent meal before they left.

"Where's the sheriff?" he asked, dropping the load onto the sofa.

"Gone upstairs to see if he can rustle up some more blankets for Day," Artie replied. "We'll have to air them in front of the fire."

"Yes, it must be pretty damp upstairs after all these years. We'd better sleep down here. I've bedded the horses down in the barn, by the way. I couldn't find anything for them to eat, though."

"We can sort that out in the morning," Artie said.

They heard the sheriff coming down the stairs. He had a couple of blankets with him and he walked over to the fire and held them up to the warmth. "Lots of dust and cobwebs upstairs but things aren't in too bad a condition, considering," he said. "I found these in a closet."

The blankets were soon aired and Day was put to bed on the sofa with the extra blankets tucked in around him.

"He looks real bad, Jim," Artie said. "I'm not sure he's gonna make it all the way to Beaumont."

"We don't have any other choice," Jim said. "It's where the nearest hospital is."

"Poor devil," Artie replied.

"I don't expect the families of the men who died would feel that way, even now," Jim said.

Artie knew already how Jim felt about Liston Day. Hadn't he compared him to Benedict Arnold? But what Day had done happened over thirty years ago. To Artie, it seemed hard to associate the frail, sick old man with the young one, who had caused so many deaths because of his treachery. ' _Maybe this is the right time to tell Jim about my dream,_ ' he thought.

"Jim, I need to tell you something."

"What?" Jim asked.

"Last night I had a dream and this house was in it, I won't bother with all the details except that the house in my dream belonged to Liston Day's family and the painting on that wall over there is his mother, Caroline."

"So you think this is Liston's family home."

"Yes."

"What happened in this dream?"

"We found Caroline Day's diary and, in it, she wrote that her husband, Charles, was the one who told Santa Anna the revolutionaries' plans."

"But that was just a dream," Jim said.

"Yeah, but if it was just a dream then how did I know what this house looked like, down to the last detail?"

"I don't know; some things just can't be explained."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I think I might just go upstairs and look for that diary, though."

"All right, I'll get supper sorted out," Jim said.

Artie couldn't help keeping his eyes on the carpeting as he ascended the stairs and made his way along the landing, remembering the way the floor had given way in his dream. However, his journey to Caroline Day's bedroom was uneventful. It surprised him to find that the room was not the dream version. It also held no portrait of her son. There was a painting on the wall, though, a water-colour of a beautiful garden, the one from the house Caroline had grown up, perhaps? It certainly bore no resemblance to the unkempt garden outside and wouldn't have, even if it was returned to its former condition.

Still, since he was there, Artie felt no qualm about searching the drawers and cupboards, starting with the dressing table. All he found were some scarves and a few handkerchiefs. There was no journal. He returned to the sitting-room to report his failure to Jim and to get something to eat.

He had almost reached the bottom stair when the front door was flung open and two people swept into the hallway. It was a man and a woman and they were holding rifles, one of which was aimed at Artie while the other was covering Jim and the Sheriff.

"Stand still!" the woman said, looking at Artie, "or I'll blow your head off."


	2. The Family Diaz

**The Night of the Mexican Revenge**

Chapter 2

 **The Family Diaz**

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

 _(Shakespeare -_ _Hamlet Act 3, scene 2,_ _)_

The four men just stared at the two armed intruders; even Liston had roused himself sufficiently to sit up.

The woman used her rifle to motion to Artie to join the others. She was in her late-fifties, of Spanish origin, with grey flecks in her raven-coloured hair. The man was in his thirties, six feet tall, with the same dark features.

Jim finally stepped forward and said, "There's no need for guns. We have nothing here to steal."

"I told you to stand still," the woman replied. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Your house?" Artie queried. "We thought it was abandoned," he added, indicating the cobwebs.

"It was, but not anymore," she replied. "This is my house."

"If that's true then we're sorry to intrude," Jim said, in a conciliatory tone, "but we're escorting a federal prisoner to the hospital in Beaumont and we'd be grateful if you'd let us rest here overnight. Our charge is too ill to pose any danger to you," he added, to reassure her.

The woman looked across the room and then lowered her gun as she walked over to Day to take a closer look at his face.

"Liston, is that you?" she asked, shock on her face.

"Dolores," Day said, with great effort and lay back down again, exhausted.

Dolores stood frozen in place. "I never thought I'd see you again," she said.

"Do you know this man?" Artie asked.

"Yes, he's my husband," was the reply.

"Mrs Day..." Jim began.

"Senora Diaz," she replied. "I despise the name of the man who is my husband and a traitor. I use the Spanish translation," she added, shooting Day a look of loathing.

"Senora Diaz," Jim began again, "I see now that, as his wife, this house is rightfully yours. All we want is to stay the night and we'll be gone in the morning. Now do you think you could persuade your companion to lower his weapon?"

"He is my son," she said, "Carlos, put down your gun!" She turned to Jim, "You and your men may stay here tonight," she said.

"Thank you."

"We've brought some provisions with us," Carlos said. I'll fetch them in and we can have dinner."

"That's very good of you."

When Carlos had left, Artie walked over to Jim, while the sheriff stayed watching Day. Dolores spoke to them. "Liston looks like he is dying," she said. "What is wrong with him and what is he doing here?"

"He has swamp fever," Artie said.

"Which he caught on his way here, after he broke out of prison," Jim added. "It looks like he was trying to get back to this house for some reason."

"I know he was very happy here as a child and that he was very close to his mother. She died just over thirty years ago. I think his treachery broke her heart and she was very lonely after his father was killed in a riding accident."

"His father was a doctor, wasn't he?" Artie asked, remembering his dream.

"Yes, a very good one, and a kind-hearted man, but also strong and courageous," she added. "I mistakenly thought that his son was like him."

"I would have thought, being of Spanish heritage yourself, you would have welcomed your husband's actions in helping Santa Anna," Artie commented.

"My family is an old one, our house and land is across the Mexican border, where we breed bulls. Our animals are renowned throughout Mexico. We took no part in the revolution. I married Liston Day secretly before it all began and, knowing of his family's wish to side with the Americans, I stayed with my father and did not visit Texas until after Liston had been arrested. He didn't have the courage to fight openly, that I could have respected, but he played the part of a coward, hiding his true allegiance. His grandfather had changed the family name from Diaz to Day when they first settled in Texas, so that they would fit in with their American neighbours. I changed my name back to Diaz to separate myself from him." She pointed in Liston Day's direction. I would have hidden my marriage had I not found out I was going to give birth to a child, who needed a name. Now you know the whole story."

"Thank you for telling it to us," Jim said. "Then you have returned here tonight for the first time since Mrs Day died."

"That is right. I used to visit her so she could see her grandson. He was a consolation to her. After she died, I didn't return."

"Why are you here tonight?" Artie asked.

"My father died a few months ago and my brother inherited everything. I decided it was time to leave and move to this house, my son's inheritance. It looks like we will have to do a lot of work," she added, looking around her. "I hope you do not believe I came here to rescue my husband," she said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her. "I had no idea he was here and the sooner he leaves, the better I will like it. I despise him."

"Don't worry, madam, we believe you," Artie said.

At that moment Carlos re-entered the room, bringing provisions with him. Artie went over to help him sort through them for something for dinner.

"You haven't told me who you are," Dolores said to Jim.

"I'm James West and the man helping your son is Artemus Gordon. We're federal agents. The man guarding your husband is the sheriff from Beaumont."

"Is my husband that dangerous then? He looks to me as if he will not see the night out, he is so frail."

"You can nurse him if you want to," Jim offered.

"I would rather have nothing to do with him," was the reply, and Jim couldn't help contrasting it with the compassion shown earlier by Artie, who was a stranger to the prisoner. But, of course, he knew nothing of what she might have suffered over the years, the wife of a traitor, trying to bring up a child without its father.

"Then we had better get him to the hospital as soon as we can," Jim said. "Excuse me," he added turning away to have a word with the sheriff.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Artie found the kitchen and managed to light the range. He and Dolores put together a hot meal, during which Dolores left Artie to it, for a while, to make a bowl of thin oatmeal, for Day, deciding that he was not well enough for his stomach to tolerate any meat. She even took the time to spoon-feed it to him before she ate her own meal. Artie was touched that she would care for her husband no matter what she thought of him.

Dinner was served in the sitting room and, when it had been eaten, the four of them sat around the fire, talking. Day was thankfully sleeping, his fever seemingly having died down a little. Carlos had been upstairs and brought down some bedding, for him and his mother, which was presently airing by the side of the fire.

"Thank you for supplying the food, Senora Diaz," the sheriff said. "That was mighty decent of you, seeing as we're interlopers."

"Yes," Artie agreed, "I dread to think what we might have had to eat if you hadn't turned up."

"It was my pleasure, gentlemen. It was a much simpler meal than I would have eaten at home but it was sufficient, under the circumstances. Pardon me, gentlemen," she added, "but we had a very long journey to get here. I think I will retire for the night. Feel free to help yourselves to whatever you would like for breakfast."

She stood up and helped Carlos to gather up the aired bedding. Both of them climbed the stairs, and a short silence fell. The sheriff was now dozing in front of the fire and Jim turned to Artie.

"How's your dream faring against reality now," Jim asked.

"There was no hint that Day was married, so that's different and I found out earlier that Caroline's bedroom is nothing like the one in my dream. Also there was no portrait of her son, or a journal. I don't know what to make of it."

"Well I'm tired out so we'd better leave it there. It's your turn to keep watch. I'll take over at two o'clock. Might as well leave the sheriff where he is. There's no point in waking him up."

"Alright. Good night, Jim."

"Night, Artie."

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Early the next morning, Artie woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. It seemed that the sheriff had taken over the watch while Jim made breakfast. The fire had been kept going and warmed the room against the early morning chill. Artie made his way down to the kitchen, where Jim was frying eggs and bacon.

"That smells good," Artie said, sitting down at the table.

Jim plonked a plate in front of him and poured him a cup of coffee.

"Bless you, Jim."

"I'm just gonna take some breakfast to the sheriff, then I'll come back and join you," Jim said.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

The sheriff greeted Jim with a wide smile when he saw what he was carrying.

"Thanks, Mr West," he said, putting aside his rifle so that he could tuck into the delicious food. Jim put the coffee cup on a nearby table and walked over to see if Day felt like eating anything. Day appeared to be sleeping but, on looking closer, Jim couldn't see detect any breathing. He touched Day's face; it was ice-cold.

"Sheriff, can you come over here a moment?" Jim said

The sheriff put down his plate and walked over to the sofa. "What's up?" he asked.

"Looks like Day passed away in the night."

"What!" The sheriff put his hand in front of Day's mouth; there was no breath.

"He's stone cold," Jim said, "he must have been dead for hours."

The sheriff sat down in an armchair. "What do you plan to do now?"

"We need to bury him and then head for Beaumont. It's still the nearest town and I need to send a report."

"Shall I wake up Senor Diaz and her son?"

"No, leave them be. They'll probably be down soon anyway. I'll go and tell Artie and then I'd appreciate your help with the burial."

"Sure thing Mr West. I'll go and see if there's a shovel around here someplace."

Jim nodded and returned to the kitchen.

"Where have you been," Artie asked. I've drunk nearly all the coffee."

"Day didn't wake up this morning. It looks like he died in his sleep."

"Day's dead? What now?"

"We should bury him here; it is his home after all. Then we continue on to Beaumont. We need to let Colonel Richmond know our assignment is ended."

"Sad to think no-one will feel sorry about his death."

"Yeah well, it's hardly surprising."

Artie sighed. "You'd better have something to eat. I'll see about the burial."

"The sheriff's gone to find a shovel."

"Good, I'll go join him. But shouldn't we talk to Senora Diaz about this before we make a start?"

"I'll do that, as soon as she comes down."

"I'll see you later then."

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo


	3. A Dream Come True

**The Night of the Mexican Revenge**

Chapter 3

 **A Dream Come True**

"And I fell violently on my face."

 _(_ _Edgar Allan Poe_ _,_ _Great Tales and Poems_ _)_

It was down to Artie to say a few words at the burial, which Dolores Diaz had reluctantly agreed could take place in the family plot. Once again Jim had to admire his partner for his way with words. No-one would have guessed they were saying good-bye to a traitor and escaped prisoner.

Afterwards, Jim, Artie and the Sheriff took their leave of Dolores and Carlos.

"We'll be on our way now," Jim told them. "Good luck with renovating this place."

"Don't worry, we'll do fine," Carlos said.

Jim had the feeling that Carlos wasn't acting like a man who had just lost his father but, he supposed that might be because he'd never actually met him until yesterday. Still, he might have shown a little more interest in the man who had so notoriously been wrenched from his family. He hadn't approached Day once, during the time that they'd been in the house together.

Without wasting any more time, the three men packed up their gear, saddled their horses and set out for Beaumont. They would make much better time now they didn't have to escort a sick man.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

That night it was Jim's turn to take first watch over their camp site. He could see that Artie was having a disturbed sleep because he kept mumbling to himself but, as the sheriff had second watch, it wasn't until the morning that Artie told them about his latest dream. They were sitting around the fire drinking coffee.

"I think I've found the solution to why I had that dream about the house," he said. "It's to do with an incident from my childhood that I'd forgotten, maybe because I was too young, at the time, to realise the significance of what I'd seen and heard. It came to me in the night."

"That makes sense. You nearly drove me mad with your incessant muttering and mumbling."

"Do you want me to tell you or not?"

"Carry on, I'm all ears," Jim said.

"Yeah, I want to hear this," the sheriff said.

"I was at the Day's house back in '36," Artie, continued.

"You were at the house?" Jim said in amazement. "You must have been what...twelve or thirteen years old. What were you doing there?"

"I was camped near there with my father. The revolution was over by then and Day must have already been arrested and taken away. I was tracking an animal through the woods, hoping to bag him for our dinner, and wandered onto the Day's land. I saw the house in the distance and was curious. I snuck up to the kitchen door, hoping for something to eat. There was no-one around so I went further into the house, as far as the drawing room. I remember that the house seemed sad, as of its owner had died. Then I heard a noise and sneaked into the hall way, to hide. Two people entered the house from the garden, an old man, must have been Charles Day, and a young, Mexican woman. I heard her say that it was wonderful that Liston had taken the blame for his father and he had no idea they were lovers. Charles Day laughed at that."

"So, you're telling me that Carlos Diaz is Liston's father's son. That would explain his name. It's the one Day had until he settled in Texas."

"Yes, and then they started kissing, which didn't interest me."

"Oh how times have changed."

"Anyway, I quietly let myself out of the front door and went into the garden, where I found a garden seat with a book on it, which had been left open. I couldn't resist reading some of it and then I realised it was a woman's private journal.

"I can't believe you read a lady's personal diary," Jim said, pretending to be shocked.

"I was twelve, alright? Anyway, it's only now I realise it must have belonged to Liston's mother. In it she was writing that her son had confessed to being a traitor in order to save his father. From what she wrote about Dolores, she definitely didn't like her daughter-in-law. She was sure that it was Dolores to whom her husband had given the secret information."

"So Dolores lied to us when she said she hadn't been at the house and about her being uninterested in the revolution," the sheriff realised.

"That's about the size of it. I knew that dream I had the other night was caused by something. It must have been the fact that we had Liston Day with us that prompted my memory to dredge up the past. As a boy, I didn't realise what I was seeing. On the way back to the camp I managed to trip over and dislocate my thumb. The pain of my father relocating it and strapping it up tightly put all thoughts of anything else right out of my head. My father wasn't very happy with me either because, aside from the fact I had trouble handling my horse one-handed, I hadn't brought anything back for the pot."

"What's this about a dream?" the sheriff said.

"It's a long story," Jim said. "The short version is that Artie dreamt about the Day house a couple of nights back and in it he saw the house exactly how it was."

"Dang, that's enough to spook a person. Expect you're glad you found an explanation."

"Very glad, I was starting to think I had second sight or something."

"Not as glad as I am," Jim said. "What Artie remembered does explain most of the elements in his dream. Anything else we can probably put down to his vivid imagination, like mentally adding the cobwebs that weren't there on his previous visit."

"What do we do now?" The sheriff asked. "Should we go back to the house, I mean it was a long time ago and Mrs Diaz is a Mexican?"

"And Liston Day is dead," Artie added.

"In the light of what you just told us, hasn't it occurred to you that his wife might have killed him?" Jim asked. "He was the only one left who knew what really happened back then, and her feeding him oatmeal was out of character."

"Yeah, and she did protest a bit too much about his guilt and how she hated him," Artie agreed.

"I intend to go back to the Day house and arrest Mrs Day," Jim said, anglicising her name, now he believed her to be a common murderer. "She married an American and now we know she lived for several months in Texas, I think we have the right to hold her on a charge of treason. I'm going to try anyway."

"I'm with you, Mr West," the sheriff said.

"No, Sheriff, you carry on to Beaumont. You've been away long enough, and someone has to make a report to the prison authority about Day's death. Artie and I will go back to get Mrs Day. This is a federal matter."

"Alright, Mr West, but I sure wish I was going with you."

"We'll be fine. Let's break camp, Artie."

As Jim was kicking dirt over the last glowing ember from the fire, Artie couldn't help pointing something out. "Jim, we don't have any proof of what Dolores Diaz did back then, only my recollections and an old journal, which has gone missing. I bet that woman destroyed it."

"Probably, but we can't do anything about that now. What I do hope to prove is that she murdered Liston Day."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"I'll find someone to perform an autopsy on the body."

"Great, just great, I just hope we don't end up getting shot in the process. Those two are pretty nifty with a gun."

"That's another thing," Jim pondered, "just what are they doing in Texas, after all these years? It might be worth finding out."

"Oh no, here we go again, looking for trouble."

Jim grinned as he threw himself up into the saddle. "You know me," he said.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

When they were in sight of the house, the two men dismounted and made their way stealthily to the back of the property. The lawns were overgrown in some places and threadbare in others. Most of the shrubs had either bolted or died. There didn't seem to be anyone around so they entered through the kitchen door, just as Artie had, some thirty-five years before, into the melancholy interior of the house.

There was total silence for a while, until their ears became attuned to the almost non-existent noise of a conversation being carried on.

"Do you hear that, Jim?" Artie whispered.

"Yes, it seems a long way away but it must be somewhere in the house," Jim responded equally quietly. "Maybe they're in the cellar, if there is one."

A prowl through the door, to the right of the front entrance, brought them to, what looked like, a closet, but, beyond, lay a flight of steps going down into a basement room. It must have had some sort of window above ground because it was flooded with bright, afternoon light and only the landing at the top of the stairs was in shadow. Jim moved slowly forward, gun drawn, with Artie following cautiously behind him. Before Artie could place a foot on the landing, the door was suddenly banged shut in his face, knocking him off his feet. Before Jim could turn fully, to see what had happened, he felt hands push him forcefully in the back, and he went hurtling head-first down the flight of stairs. He tried to turn his body into a sideways roll, which looked like it was going to work, but in fact caused him to lose control of his bearings and forced his head violently against the wall. He came to a final stop by landing flat on his face on the hard floor below, blood trickling across the sun-drenched stone. His hat, having been dislodged during his somersault, rolled past him to end up about two feet from his head.

Carlos, having set Jim on his downwards journey, wasted no time in watching the outcome but opened the door to confront a disoriented Artemus Gordon, holding a hand to his nose, that was bleeding copiously, and searching for his gun, which had been knocked from his grip.

Carlos retrieved the gun and used it to force Artie to follow his partner, though in a more organised fashion, down into the basement. When he saw Jim lying unconscious he tried to descend more quickly and ended up staggering down to where his friend lay.

"Jim!" he said. "Jim!" Then he turned to the woman standing, looking at him. "You've killed him!" he accused.


	4. The Nightmare Begins

**The Night of the Mexican Revenge**

Chapter 4

 **The Nightmare Begins**

What is now proved was once only imagined.

 _(William Blake)_

"Do not excite yourself, Mr Gordon," Senora Dolores Diaz said, "It is probably just a concussion."

"There's no such thing as ' _just'_ a concussion," Artie raged at her. "If he's not dead now he soon could be. Let me look after him," he pleaded.

"Carlos will see to him, after he has tied your hands behind your back so that I can be sure that you will not cause any more trouble. That would be far too dangerous," she replied, "for us," she added, as he felt Carlos drag his hands behind his back and tie his wrists securely together. Carlos then pushed him into a chair at a table and Dolores began to question him.

"Why did you come back here?" she demanded. "Where is the sheriff? Is he hiding somewhere?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," Artie replied.

"What you mean is you _won't_ tell me anything." She smiled. "It doesn't matter. If your sheriff turns up he will meet the same fate as you and Mr West. Meanwhile, we will make sure you cannot upset our plans."

"You have plans, do you? Thank you for that piece of information."

"It will do you no good because you will not leave here alive."

"Plenty of people have said that to me but here I am, alive and well," Artie said, stretching the truth a little, aware of the painful damage to his face.

"There's a first time for everything," she replied.

"Can I see my partner now?" Artie stood up, anxious to be reunited with West and to be able to see for himself that he was all right.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Artie realised that he had been wrong. There was a dark and dingy part of the basement, a room behind the stairs, into which he was ushered by Carlos Diaz. His heart missed a beat when he caught sight of West, seated on the floor, back against the stone wall, his hands restrained behind him and his ankles tied together. He was still unconscious, his head thrown back, revealing a face that looked drained and paper-white, while a rusty red trickle of blood had dried down one side of his head and neck.

Artie didn't have to be told to sit with his partner; he went forward with alacrity and sat down beside West, with an awkwardness caused by his hands being tied behind him.

"Jim, are you okay?" he couldn't help asking, even though he knew West couldn't hear him. "You're gonna be alright," he added, more to reassure himself than anything else.

Carlos tied Artie's ankles together and then left, with a promise he would bring them something to eat later. Artie had no idea when that would be and didn't really care. He wasn't hungry and Jim was in no condition to eat anything.

Taking into consideration his constraints, Artie did the best he could to try and take a closer look at Jim. He noticed that the bleeding from his forehead had stopped but Artie was worried that it was the lesser of his injuries and wished he was free to take a better look.

With nothing more he could do for the time-being, to help his partner, Artie decided to take a look around the room. There were no windows and the light came from a lamp standing on a table. The door appeared solid but the lock looked quite flimsy. He suspected that the room had been used in the past to store provisions over the winter. In the summer, which it was then, it was cooler than outside, and Artie hoped that Jim would be warm enough. His thoughts turning back to his friend, he spent the next twenty minutes or so trying to judge his condition. He was appalled when West started to tremble and then shiver uncontrollably, followed by sweating, alternating between the two states while Artie sat helpless beside him.

In desperation, Artie began to struggle with the bindings on his wrists to see if it was possible to wriggle free of them. He had been at it for about ten minutes, without success, when he heard a groan and realised that Jim was regaining consciousness.

"Jim," he said, "it's me, Artie. Talk to me Jim!"

Jim groaned again, his features screwed up in pain. Slowly he opened his eyes, wincing at the agony it caused him. They were glazed and still slightly feverish. "What happened?" he managed to mumble.

"You lost a fight with some stone steps."

"Is that all? It feels much worse." Jim turned and looked at his partner, his sweat-glistened face showing the pain of the effort it took. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked.

"Carlos slammed a door in my face. Thankfully my nose isn't broken, just swollen."

"You're going to be sporting two lovely black eyes by tomorrow," Jim said. He tried to smile but it ended in a wince. "Ow my head hurts and I feel terrible."

"I'm pretty sure you have a concussion."

"Great! That's just what I need. Do you have a plan to get us out of here?"

"I'm not sure you should be going anywhere. You're pretty sick."

"No choice," Jim pointed out. "If we stay here we're gonna die anyway,"

"True, but I don't have a plan anyway, do you?"

"No, I can't reach any of my equipment with my hands tied behind me," Jim complained.

There was silence for a while and Artie realised that Jim had either fallen asleep or passed out. He couldn't decide whether he should rouse him or not. At least the fever seemed to have died down. Jim was a tough character and in peak physical condition so he should be better than many another man in coping with injury. After a further twenty minutes Jim awoke groggily for the second time. "Sorry Artie," he said, "I could feel myself going but couldn't do anything about it."

"Don't worry. You obviously need the rest and I wish I could give you more time. I think I've come up with something, though. If you lean forward, I might be able to extract your knife, from the back of your jacket, with my teeth," Artie said, without much conviction.

"That could work," Jim said, clutching at straws. "You could drop it into my hands and I could cut through my ropes," he suggested.

"Alright, here we go," Artie said, getting ready to lean over in Jim's direction.

The first time Jim leaned forward and lowered his head he felt woozy, and had to lift his head up again.

"Wait a minute and take it more slowly next time," Artie advised.

Jim leaned back, head raised, trying to regain his equilibrium. About five minutes passed before he felt like making another attempt. Then he slowly lowered his head, breathing deeply as he did so. Artie lost no time in trying to extract the knife, realising that Jim couldn't hold his position for long. He ended up mauling the neck of the jacket quite badly with his mouth, before he could expose the handle of the blade and manage to grip it between his teeth. He delivered it, quite by accident, perfectly into Jim's hand.

"Great job Artie," he gasped, and closed his eyes to prepare himself before struggling to turn the blade so that it rested against the ropes around his wrists.

Artie could only guess at the amount of pain and discomfort all this was costing Jim.

After a couple of minutes Jim suddenly let out a howl.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I cut my hand with the knife," Jim admitted.

"Well, it was bound to happen one day," was Artie's unsympathetic reply. "Hey, you didn't drop it did you?"

"Don't worry about me being in pain, will you?"

"I'm trying not to but you're not making it easy by slicing yourself up."

"There, I'm through. Turn around and I'll cut you free."

Artie presented his back to Jim so that he could cut him free of the ropes, and then they both began to untie the bindings around their ankles. Jim made such a meal of it, because of the cut on his hand and his dizziness that Artie finally had to take over from him. Once they were both free and standing up, Artie saw Jim wobble and made him sit down again.

"You sit still while I take a look at that hand," Artie said. He knelt down and took Jim's hand in his.

"If anyone comes in now they'll think you're proposing to me," Jim joked.

"Hmm, all I'm proposing is that you let me bind this up; you need to keep that cut clean," Artie said. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around the wound, making sure it was secure. "There you are," he said.

"Thanks Artie."

"Now let me take a look at your head."

"There's no need," Jim said, attempting to stand up again.

"You stay right where you are," Artie ordered, pushing him back down. He placed his hands on Jim's head and felt for the wound he expected to find. His fingers touched a large lump on the right side of his skull and Jim winced as he probed it. He went to fetch the lamp from the table and held it aloft so that he could take a better look.

"That's quite a crack you took to your head but, thankfully there's no break in the skin, and the swelling is hard, not soft."

"Great, now let's get out of here."

"Don't you dare get up again," Artie said. "I'll take care of the door."

"There's explosive in my left heel," Jim said.

Artie removed it and helped himself to a length of fuse as well. He took them over to the only entrance to the room, placed the explosive in the lock, and stuck the fuse in it. He looked over at his partner before striking the match. "Are you ready to run?" Artie asked.

"Yeah, go for it."

"I don't know why I bothered to ask; you're so foolhardy you'd say the same thing on your death bed."

"Artie, quit clucking like a mother hen, huh?"

"On your own head be it, if you'll excuse the pun."

"Artie!"

"Alright, alright," he replied, striking the match and lighting the end of the fuse.

"Hold on a minute!" Jim said.

"What?"

There was a small bang and the door swung open.

"I was going to say we should have waited until it was dark," Jim said in a loud whisper.

Artie peered through the open doorway. "There's no one around," he said. "Can you stand up?"

"Of course I can. I keep telling you."

"Yes, and I have to take your word for it," Artie replied, "because we have to go before they come back."

"Then why bother to ask?" Jim queried. He eased himself up off the floor, trying hard to disguise the pain and dizziness that assailed him. He must have done a good job because Artie just nodded and helped him out of the room.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Carlos and his mother were in a room at the other end of the basement, which had once been Charles Day's laboratory.

"We are very nearly ready, my darling," Dolores said.

"Good, I am keen to return home."

"We can't leave until we've dealt with the problem of Mr West and Mr Gordon," Dolores reminded him.

"Don't worry," Carlos replied," I have something in mind for them and it will also remove any evidence." He laughed.

"If only we had captured the sheriff as well," his mother said.

"Without evidence there is nothing he can do."

"I hope you are right."

"Anyway, we will be across the border and out of American jurisdiction," Carlos pointed out. "Why do you think the two federal agents returned?" he asked.

"They must have suspected I poisoned Liston."

"Why did you kill him?" Carlos had known, from childhood, whom his real father was so he felt nothing for his mother's husband.

"I couldn't risk him saying anything to make them doubt his guilt."

"He probably would have died in a few days anyway," Carlos pointed out.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Do you think it's time you took our guests some food?"

"I will do it later. The younger one is probably still unconscious."

"Do as you wish. Now pass me that test tube, please. I have almost perfected the poison."

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo


	5. The Wake-Up Call

**The Night of the Mexican Revenge**

Chapter 5

 **The Wake-up Call**

An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.

( _Oscar Wilde_ )

The only way out of the basement was the stairs that Jim had previously been thrown down. Artie looked at them with trepidation, not at all sure that Jim was in a fit state to climb them, even with his help.

"Where are we going?" Jim asked.

"To find our horses and get the hell out of here," Artie replied.

"No, we have to find out what Mrs Day and her son are up to."

"Jim, if I let go of you now you'd probably fall over. You're sick. We can come back later."

"No, it'll be too late. We have to confront them now."

"Jim, you can't be serious. We don't even have our guns."

"They must be in here somewhere. Look in the drawer of that table over there."

Artie looked at Jim and realised that he would not listen to any more arguments. He sat him down in a nearby chair and headed over to the desk. Unbelievably he found the guns where Jim had said. At least something was going their way. He handed Jim his gun and holstered his own.

"Now let's get out of here," he tried again.

"They must be in another part of the basement," Jim said. "Otherwise, why were they down here when we arrived?"

"I've seen enough of this basement to last me a lifetime," Artie said. "Why don't you let me take you out of here and then I'll come back and see if I can find them?"

"Alright," Jim finally agreed. His face had gone very white again and Artie knew the only reason he'd agreed was because he must be feeling ill. He helped Jim up the stairs and through the house to the back door. Just as they were stumbling across what used to be the garden, Jim pushed Artie away from him and turned to vomit violently into the weeds. He was close to collapse as Artie grabbed him and supported him to a nearby stone bench. "That's it," he said. "I'm going to fetch the horses and bring them here then I'm taking you to Beaumont, to see a doctor."

"No, not enough time," Jim managed to get out.

"I don't care what the Days are up to, I'm far more worried about you. Please Jim, listen to me."

"This is our job, Artie, we get paid to do this. We have to stop them."

"We don't get paid to take risks with our lives...," Artie began and then realised that was exactly what they were paid for. Jim was looking at him with a kind of desperate appeal in his eyes and he realised he was right, lives were probably at stake and he had to go back in. "Alright, you stay here and I'll see if I can find out anything."

Jim did his best to nod in agreement and then closed his eyes. Artie studied him carefully; the colour of his hair, which had fallen across his face, was in stark contrast to his pallor. He wanted to stay and make sure he was not about to pass out, realised he had other priorities, and reluctantly turned back toward the house.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Dolores was still in the laboratory but Carlos had left her to get some fresh air and smoke a cigarette. Deciding to return to the laboratory, he came around the corner of the house and caught sight of Artemus Gordon, looking in through the basement windows. Carlos crept up behind him and shoved the barrel of his revolver in Artie's back. With his free hand he removed Artie's gun from its holster.

"Don't move!" Carlos said.

"Here we go again," Artie replied, annoyed that he had clumsily allowed himself to be caught. He'd been so worried about Jim he had allowed his concentration to slip.

"Where's your friend?" Carlos asked.

"Dead," Artie said, turning toward him. "You killed him, you bastard."

Carlos looked him in the face, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. This was difficult, owing to the swelling and the rapidly developing black eyes.

"Come on, back to the basement," Carlos said, motioning Artie toward the front door.

They descended the lethal stairs once more but this time Carlos took Artie to the laboratory, where he had left his mother hard at work. He pushed him into a chair and tied him to it.

"Ah Mr Gordon," Dolores said. "Why have you brought him here, Carlos?"

"I caught him snooping around outside."

"So you managed to escape," she said. "How resourceful; I don't suppose you will tell me how you accomplished it?"

Artie looked at her mulishly.

"Of course not," she said. "And are we not to have the pleasure of Mr West's company, Carlos?"

"This one says he is dead."

"And you believe him?"

"No, I'm going outside to look for him, after I've checked the room where they were tied up."

"Alright, in the meantime, I will entertain Mr Gordon."

As soon as Carlos had gone, Dolores turned her chair to face Artie's. "I expect you are wondering what we are doing here," she said.

"The question had crossed my mind," Artie said. "Care to enlighten me?"

"I shall be happy to," she replied. "You must have suspected something, otherwise you wouldn't have returned."

"I might as well tell you I remembered being here as a boy. I know that you were the one Charles Day gave the information to and that Carlos is his son."

"Very clever, Mr Gordon."

"Thank you. Once I'd realised that, it was only logical to suspect that you had murdered your husband. We came back to arrest you."

"I thought that might be the case. I wanted to kill you all while you were here before, but Carlos wouldn't let me. He said you would accept Liston's death as natural causes; he had the swamp fever so badly."

"You let that man rot in prison for over thirty years for something you did," Artie accused, "and then you stamped him out like a fly, the first chance you got. You are some piece of work, lady."

"Nothing matters to me except the land that was stolen from my people. I married Liston for one reason only, to be able to enter Texas and live here openly, while his father and I plotted the downfall of our American enemies."

"What a shame that Charles Day died so soon afterwards."

Dolores smiled. "Not really, he had outlived his usefulness and he knew too much."

"So you killed him too."

"It was just a matter of loosening the straps on his saddle. No one suspected it was anything but a riding accident. You see I have been very clever."

"Treacherous and evil are better words to describe you," Artie told her, with disgust.

Just then the door opened and Carlos walked in with Jim cradled in his arms. Artie struggled to stand up but was pinioned firmly to the chair. "Jim," he breathed. His partner looked more dead than alive, his head leaning against Carlos' shoulder was still; his eyes shut. Just when he thought he had been right when he told Carlos that Jim was dead, he noticed a slight movement of his partner's eyelashes.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Artie looked across at Jim, satisfied that he was as well as could be expected, given his condition. Carlos had produced brandy from the main house and managed to tip some down Jim's throat. This had returned some colour to his cheeks at least, and he had recovered even more when they had both been spoon-fed some hot soup, by Dolores' fair hand. Artie had tried to forget that it was the same hand that had slipped the poison into Liston Day's oatmeal. Now Jim was slumped in a chair opposite his partner, tied hand and foot. They were back to square one and Artie suspected that the only reason they had kept Jim alive was because the Days wanted both of them to know their plans before they disposed of them. _'Shades of Miguelito Loveless,'_ Artie thought. He couldn't know how close he was to the truth.

"Now where were we before we were interrupted, Mr Gordon?" Dolores asked.

"I believe I was calling you an evil, treacherous bitch," Artie said. That got Jim's attention; he looked up and essayed a crooked smile. It did Artie's heart good to see it.

"I was hoping to gloss over that part of our conversation," Dolores said, slightly disconcerted. "We were, if you recall, discussing my intention to reclaim Texas on behalf of Mexico."

"You'll never do it," Artie said. "Texas is too well established, the people would fight you tooth and nail. Remember how it turned out last time?"

"You say that because you know nothing of our plans," Carlos broke in.

"I hope it doesn't have anything to do with rats and the plague," Artie said, remembering the mad scheme thought up by Liston Day in his dream.

"I hadn't thought of that," Dolores said, thoughtfully. "No, that would be too difficult to implement," she decided.

"So what do you have in mind?"

"Mosquitoes," Carlos dropped into the silence.

"What, those whining, biting, infuriating things?" Artie asked, failing to see what danger they could possibly be.

"I too would have thought the same thing," Dolores said, "had I not meant the incredible genius, Doctor Miguelito Loveless and his charming companion."

"Loveless!" Artie said. "I thought he perished in a fire."

"I know nothing of that. I first met him some time ago. It was quite bizarre. He told me he had arrived on the back of a raven and I suppose it was possible as he and the lady with him were no more than six inches tall."

"So that's how he escaped."

"So you knew him back then?2

"All too well, I'm sorry to say. He shrank Jim as well but I managed to give him the antidote."

"He explained to me that, in his haste to escape, he had forgotten to take any of the antidote with him. In his situation it was not possible for him to make more of it so he asked for my help, which I gave him, in exchange for his help with my plans for revenge.

"That man has the nine lives of a cat," Artie exclaimed. "What mad scheme did he suggest?"

"He is a man far ahead of his time and totally undervalued by this country. He had been experimenting in the field of disease and had discovered that this sickness you label 'swamp fever' is in fact cuased by a parasite carried by infected mosquitoes."

At first it seemed ludicrous until Artie thought about it for a moment. He knew how clever a scientist Loveless was, it was only the use he made of his discoveries and inventions that was tinged with lunacy. "How are you going to use that piece of knowledge?" he asked.

"Doctor Loveless gave me the formula for a new poison, one that affects cattle only. I am going to make sure that thousands of mosquitoes carry that poison across Texas."

"What?"

"Yes, I agree, not all that devastating. But that's only the beginning."

Artie looked at Jim, who had his eyes closed. He had been taking everything in but had let Artie do the talking, conserving his energy and making himself seem weaker than he actually was. It would give him a better chance of escape. Jim could feel that Carlos hadn't tied his hands and feet as tightly as before, probably because he didn't see him as a threat. He had been slowly trying to slip out of the ropes and believed that when the time came he could be free in a matter of seconds. He hoped neither Senora Diaz nor her son had noticed.

"Don't you think it's dangerous, making up the formula for this poison? If you get it wrong it could be deadly. You might end up killing the entire human population."

"You make that sound like a bad thing, Mr Gordon. My only concern is that it might kill me or my son, before we could implement it. Afterwards it won't matter; we have long been prepared to sacrifice our lives for the cause."

"You're mad!"

"If that is true then it is the greed of your government that has made me so."

"What are you going to do with us?" he asked, nodding toward Jim.

"You two are a nuisance. I would rather your government believe that the disease is of natural origin but that would not be possible if we leave you alive to tell them about our part in it. Because of this you must die."

"I gathered that much. How are you going to do it? If you were going to poison us, you should have put it in the soup."

"No, it has to look like an accident otherwise your colleagues will come to investigate. Perhaps you might have returned here and found the house empty, also perhaps you decided to stay the night and perhaps you left the fire burning and then perhaps a piece of wood rolled onto the carpet and perhaps the house burned down. That would result in your deaths and the destruction of any evidence.

"Perhaps," Artie mimicked. "Won't it be a little awkward if our charred bodies are found tied to chairs in the basement?"

"Of course not, you will be found asleep in the drawing room, having been untied and drugged to make sure you are unconscious throughout the whole thing."

"You become more dangerous the longer I know you."

"It's a good thing it won't be for very much longer then."

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

 _Doctor Loveless was before his time. The connection between mosquitoes and Malaria (swamp fever) was not made until 1897._


	6. The Day of Revenge

**The Night of the Mexican Revenge**

Chapter 6

 **The Day of Revenge**

"I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow."

(Edgar Allan Poe)

 **With thanks to my reviewer who has encouraged me to publish this story. It's time to try and save Texas.** Please send reviews, even if you hate it.

"Before you kill me," Artie said, "I'd be interested to know how you're going to accomplish your ridiculous scheme."

"Very well, the room where we are now is the laboratory where I have produced the formula. The room beyond this is where I keep the mosquitoes, behind that door over there."

Artie looked where she pointed and could make out a metal door with a rubber seal.

"The room is sealed in case any of the insects escape. I transported them here as pupae, just before they were about to mature. Of course the containers have to be kept at the right level of heat and humidity, with the use of wet towels. There also needs to be a steady supply of air and water."

"How do you introduce the poison?"

"We put it in the blood meal we feed them. They are immune to it but, to the cattle, once bitten, it is lethal."

It was at that point that Artie realised that the woman was serious and there was a chance that she and her son might actually pull off the bizarre revenge they were planning. He saw Jim's shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, showing that he felt the same way. Knowing that Jim was still conscious was a boost to Artie's morale. He knew he couldn't get them out of there on his own. Before he knew it, his hopes were dashed as Carlos approached them.

"Mother, the mosquitoes are ready and it is time to act." This was said in Spanish but Artie understood and knew that, if they remained in their present circumstances, any chance to prevent the release of the deadly insects would be lost.

"I have waited over thirty years for this moment," Dolores replied. "I will release the mosquitoes." So saying, she stood up and went into the room where the insects were kept.

Artie struggled anew to release himself. It was no good. He didn't want to think of the damage that would be done to Texas and its economy. Was this going to be the one assignment where they would have to admit defeat? Would they even live to regret that they had been unsuccessful in defeating the two Mexicans? For the first time he began to doubt it.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Dolores was gone no longer than ten minutes. Artie couldn't help thinking how little time it took to destroy the livelihoods of much of the Texas population. He gave some thought as to how Carlos was going to move them both upstairs, without risking their trying to escape, once they were untied. As it happened, that was easily solved.

When Dolores returned, she hugged her son and there were tears in her eyes. "I've waited so long to get my revenge," she said. Then she stepped back, out of her son's arms. "We need to take our prisoners upstairs now," she said.

"Why do we need to do that?" Carlos asked.

"Because we want to make their deaths seem natural," Dolores answered.

"Once the house has collapsed, no one will be able to tell which room they were in when the fire started. All we need to do is drug them and then untie them. There will be no evidence that they were being held prisoner."

Dolores thought about it for a moment. "It will certainly make things easier," she conceded. "Alright."

Thankfully, Jim did such a good job of being unconscious Carlos didn't bother to drug him. Artie was not so lucky and soon felt a needle in his neck and then nothing after that.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Jim realised that he was still in no way fit enough to take on Dolores, let alone her son Carlos. So he had to wait patiently, pretending to be unconscious, until his captors left the basement, probably to go upstairs and set the fire. Once they left, he would release the ropes around his wrists and free Artie. What he would do next, he wasn't quite sure, but he'd manage somehow.

After twenty minutes or so he heard the sound of a horse and cart crossing in front of the house and knew the pair were on their way. He was also aware of the crackling sound of a fire, somewhere in the house. In no time he had slipped the ropes over his hands and was able to free his feet. He spent some time regaining his equilibrium, after having to bend down. Looking across at his partner, he could see that Artie was deeply asleep and there would be no way to rouse him. He managed to untie his hands and feet and then sat back down in his chair to rest for a couple of minutes. He knew he would need all of his diminished energy to help Artie out of the cellar.

Jim knew that once again he would have to traverse the stairs leading to the ground floor of the house. He braced himself and grabbed Artie around the waist, in an attempt to hoist him over his shoulder. He wobbled on his feet and turned to stagger up the stairs with his burden. He was sweating by the time he reached the hallway of the house. He laid Artie on the floor for a moment and leaned on the wall, feeling disoriented. There was a thickening pall of smoke emanating from the sitting room, and the temperature around him was increasing.

It was obvious he was not going to be able to carry Artie any further so he resorted to dragging him by the armpits through the house and out of the front door. He carried on until they were at least fifty yards from the house and then let go of him and sat down on the ground. His head was aching and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep but he had to look out for his partner.

It was just over half an hour later when Artie began to groan and move his limbs, telling Jim he was about to surface from his drug-induced dreams.

"What the...?" he mumbled, trying to sit up.

"Come on, sleeping beauty," Jim cajoled. "Wake up, we need to get going."

Artie remembered where they were and, as quickly as he was able, in his groggy state, rolled over and made it to his feet. "Where are they?" he demanded.

"Long gone," Jim said, "along with the mosquitoes. Looks like we failed this one, partner."

Artie ran a hand through his hair. "What now?" he asked.

"We continue on to Beaumont and put the word out for their arrest. We need to warn the authorities about the mosquitoes too."

"What about the house?"

Jim looked up at the building. It was now burning with full force and there was the sound of timbers collapsing.

"I think it's a good idea to let it be destroyed. There is an air of sadness about the place, so many people lost their loved ones here; it's a place without hope or comfort."

"Why, Jim, I never knew you were so sensitive."

"Put it down to the bump on the head," Jim replied. "Let's go find our horses and get out of here."

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

The ride to Beaumont was uneventful. Once there, Artie insisted that they book into a hotel so that his partner could rest up and he also made him visit the local doctor. It turned out that he did have a concussion but, in the doctor's opinion, his being made to sit upright, during his incarceration, had probably been the best thing for him.

Artie made sure that Jim returned to the hotel, before making his way to the sheriff's office.

"Morning Sheriff."

"Good to see you, Mr Gordon. Did you bring those two Mexicans with you?"

"No," Artie sighed, with an air of defeat, "things didn't quite turn out as we planned." There followed an explanation of everything that had happened since the two agents had last seen him.

"Well, I'll be damned," the sheriff exclaimed. "We need to get word out to the local ranches, as soon as possible, though what they can do I just don't see."

"I'll leave you to handle that. I'm going over to the telegraph office now to make my report."

"That reminds me," the sheriff said, "this letter was waiting here when I returned. It's addressed to you and Mr West."

Artie looked at the envelope. He thought he recognised the handwriting.

"You'd better open it. Might be urgent," the sheriff said.

Artie ripped open the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper he found inside. He started to read.

" _Dear Mr West and Mr Gordon,_

 _I am desolated that I am unable to see you in person at this time. Nevertheless, I feel it incumbent upon me to apprise you of a meeting I had, some time ago now, in fact before our last outing together, with a mother and son, of Mexican origin. So I have decided to write to you about it, at the cost of letting you know that I am still alive and did not perish in the conflagration that ended our last adventure together._

 _The family in question are Dolores Diaz and her son Carlos. They were of some use to me, when I found myself at an even greater disadvantage regarding my height than usual. I entrusted them with the formula of the antidote to restore my adored Antoinette and me to our original size. As you can imagine, I was in no way able to synthesise the potion myself and was reliant upon them to do it for me. I am embarrassed to admit that I bribed these two with the promise of a different formula, one which would bring to ruin the vast cattle ranches of Texas. As the achievement of this aim would not further my purpose in any way and realising that, unlike me, the pair of them had become completely insane in their quest for revenge, I in fact gave them a harmless formula which would do no harm at all._

 _An informant tells me that, after hearing that Liston Day had escaped from prison, Senora Diaz and her son left Mexico to travel to Texas, so I am sending this letter to await you at the nearest town to the house they told me about, which was where they have a laboratory. I was sure that you two would be involved in this case and, if not, then this letter will hopefully reach you somehow, wherever you are, and you will be able to put the authorities' minds at rest._

 _I look forward to our next meeting and remain, as ever, your adversary,_

 _Doctor Miguelito Loveless"_

Artie couldn't help laughing with relief when he had finished reading.

"Is it good news?" the sheriff asked.

"Very good news," Artie replied. "I have to go now but I'll see you again before we leave town."

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Back at the hotel he found Jim fast asleep so instead of waking him, he left the letter by his bed and went to the telegraph office to make his long-awaited report. Then he went to the local eatery, for a much-needed and satisfying meal, before returning to the hotel to have a shave and change of clothes.

When Jim woke up, he read the letter and welcomed Artie with the words, "Well, I never thought I'd be pleased to hear from that crazed little guy."

"Yeah, he's definitely got us out of a sticky spot. When Mrs Day was telling me that he gave her the formula, I should have realised there and then that it was unlike him to further anyone else's aims but his own. And all that rubbish he told her about mosquitoes spreading malaria should have made me suspicious."

"Don't beat yourself up. The Doctor is one character who likes to remain unpredictable so you can never know what he is planning until he turns up again. Look at how many times he's caught us off guard."

"Yeah, you're right. Anyway, I've sent my report to the Colonel and it's now up to him to arrange for Mrs Day and her son to be brought in and face justice. What are we going do now?"

"First I'm going to clean myself up. Then I'm going to have something to eat. After that, we'll return to the Wanderer for some well-earned rest. I reckon we could make it to New Orleans just in time for Mardi Gras."

"That sounds good to me, the last part anyway, the first two you're going to have to do on your own," he chuckled, but then had a sudden thought. "With your concussion do you think you'll be safe in the bath-tub on your own? Maybe I ought to come with you."

"That's a great idea. I could really do with someone to pour my bath for me and scrub my back and cut my toenails and..."

"On second thoughts, I think you'd be safer on your own. I'm likely to drown you myself."

Jim laughed at that and Artie smiled, so glad that Jim was there with him and okay, he decided that, bathing apart, he wasn't going to let his partner out of his sight for some time to come.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

The End


End file.
